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I’m a few paces away, brushing the wind-whipped hair out of my face and hoping I’m heading in the right direction when Luca shouts my name.
I turn back slowly, facing him once more. He’s standing now. All six-foot-god-knows-how-tall, in a tight black henley hugging his broad shoulders and ripped chest, black denim jeans tucked into black boots and a smile spreading across his face. He is exactly what a good girl should avoid. The typical tall, dark and handsome bad boy vibe. I’ve always thought I was a bit of a brat, though. “Yeah?”
“TryLa Famiglia. Tell them Luca sent you.”
I nod, biting my lip, trying to stop myself from smiling. I should turn around and run, run as far away from him as possible because I can tell now—when we’re face to pecs—that he’s bad news. News I definitely want to avoid. But I can’t help the feeling of curiosity and the undeniable intrigue. Enough of it to make me want to see him again.
“Thanks, Luca.”
I wave at him awkwardly, because apparently that’s just what I do these days, then turn back around, speeding away and blushing like crazy.
“See you around, Alessa.” His words are almost swallowed by the sound of the waves crashing against the docks. Almost, but not quite.
My heart is still beating out of whack when I spot the first restaurant, then the next. This must be the place. Visions of other dark and dangerous eyes that have been haunting me since my first day in Blackwood are replaced by less threatening ones as my brain keeps replaying the conversation with Luca. Seems he has been useful in more ways than I expected.
The small restaurant isn’t hard to find.La Famiglia, with its green sign, linen tablecloths and a deli counter, sits on a corner of the main street. My mouth waters just looking at the menu as I scan it while walking in. Once the smell of delicious, freshly made Italian food hits my nose, I’m certain I’ll be coming back, even if the prices are higher than I expected.
“Buongiorno.1 Would you like something to eat?”
I smile widely at the man greeting me because, heck, yes, I would, but first things first. “Actually, I’m here to see about a job. I was told you might be hiring?”
I fish out a resume from my bag and reach out to hand it to him, but before my arm is even halfway up, the piece of paper gets snatched from my grasp. What the hell?
I whip around, scandalised someone would do that, but I should have known better than to assume any civility from the man in front of me.
His suit is navy blue today, a colour that only accentuates his dark features and brown eyes. There are golden flecks in them I haven’t noticed before. His cheekbones aresharp as he grinds his jaw, staring me down. For a moment, I am lost in the abyss framed by his lashes. How could I ever think Luca was even remotely as handsome as Dante Santoro? Then he brings me back to earth by tsking at me.
“Perché sei ancora qui?2” he seethes. And as much as I want to hate him, I can’t help the way my body reacts to his voice and the foreign language slipping from his full lips.
There’s only one way I can fight against the pull he seems to have on me. Words and anger. “I don’t speakasshole, so unless it was a rhetorical question, ask again. In English.”
His eyes narrow at me, and cold sweat gathers at the nape of my neck. I’m suddenly aware of the deafening silence surrounding us. No one moves, no one speaks, no one dares to breathe. I know I made a mistake as surely as I know I’d die if someone were to cut off my oxygen supply. And looking at the rage in his eyes, I’m quite sure he’s considering a million ways to end my life. Ah, well, might as well go out with a bang.
“Shoot me,” I whisper as his hand twitches.
His head tilts to the side. “Are you asking me tokillyou?La tua vita significa così poco per te?3”
“You look like you’d like to snuff the life out of me,” I shrug. “So, if I may be so bold as to choose the way to go, I’d like it to be by a bullet. Straight to the heart. Or brain. Either one. As long as it’s quick.” I reply, ignoring the way his gravelly voice affects me.
“Quick?” Dark amusement dances in his eyes.
“Well, by the way your hand twitches, I was worried you might want to choke me, and that just seems like a shit way to die. Choking, that is. Gasping for air, lungs burning and all that.”
He’s quiet as he studies me, and my brain takes that as a sign to continue its rambling.
“Asphyxiation just doesn’t sound fun.”
“Oh, but it can be. When done properly.” In one step he is in front of me, his hand on my throat, his body inches from mine. “When done right.” His fingers tighten around my neck, not stopping the airflow but tight enough for me to feel a surge of apprehension. I knew this man was dangerous the minute I met him, yet I didn’t listen to my instincts and kept poking the bear. I should have known better than to make fun of him. Now the joke’s on me. Seems the bear has had enough, and it’s time to eat the mouse. My heart is beating so fast I almost miss his next words.
“For example, if I were to block your carotid arteries, depriving your brain of oxygenated blood.” His thumb strokes my pulse point before increasing the pressure. Whatever he is doing, I’m pretty sure my brain is being deprived of oxygenated blood because as I stare into his angry dark brown eyes, all my blood whooshes south. My legs shake as I study the furious expression on his face, hyper aware of his hand on my throat and the proximity of his body. His enticing scent, expensive and masculine, renders me immobile. “The buildup of carbon dioxide as your brain loses oxygen could create a feeling of… euphoria,” he continues, seemingly unaware of the effect he has on me—an overwhelming mix of loathing and desire. He leans down, his mouth next to my ear, his minty breath stirring the hair on the side of my neck. “Asphyxiation can be quitepleasurable, Miss Jones.”
“Alessa,” I breathe. I’m no longer afraid I’m going to die. In fact, if this is his way of wanting to torture me, I’m on board. Sign me up. My whole body shudders with excitement as his fingers tighten just a fraction.
He steps away from me instantly. “You need not be afraid. I’m not going to choke you.Orshoot you.” His handleaves my throat, leaving me feeling cold and disappointed. “Today…”
I’m scrambling for words. Preferably something witty, something to knock him off balance like he just did me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’m not afraid. Far from it, but thankfully, the arrogant bastard steps in before I have the chance to humiliate myself.
“You grew.” He scans my body from top to toe, his eyes stopping on my boots, much higher than the small heels I had on the day we met. He licks his lips before gazing back up and smirking. “I miss the littlesecretaryoutfit you had going on last time, despite the hooker lipstick.” His eyes drop to my lips, which once again are painted red. His comment should have made me feel self-conscious, but instead, the opposite happens.
